


Phobias

by orphan_account



Category: Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anyways, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Phobias, Steve Trevor - Freeform, aka my fav trope, and being family, except for references to, h/c, i mean look at the title it's obvious this is h/c, just teammates and younger teammates interacting, no romance at all actually, no slash!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:56:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12845478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Barry has a very good reason for each of his fears.or,Five times someone helped Barry with his fears + one time someone else was helped.





	1. Arthur - Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I saw Justice League, and instantly fell in love with Barry, and then churned this entire thing out over the next day and a half. It was weird to feel so enthusiastic about writing something for once, but I think my brain needed a change of pace- or fandom.
> 
> This fic does deal with the aftermath of abuse and the scars it brings. There is a brief conversation in the second-to-last-chapter that talks about the possibility of sexual abuse, but only to confirm that it didn't happen. It's literally a blink-and-you'll-miss it type of conversation.
> 
> Each chapter has a title (i.e. "Drowning," which describes the fear that Barry faces in each chapter. That means that that is a situation that Barry will be put in or have to face in the chapter, so if you have a problem with it, don't read it.
> 
> Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mentions of canonical minor character death, mentions of past abuse (physical only).

The problem, Barry decides somewhere in the back of his mind that isn't preoccupied with the fact that he's currently in danger of drowning, is that he'd never really gotten over his fear of drowning.

He's not quite sure why his fear of drowning is the thing causing his current problem (drowning), but it makes sense. Somewhere.

He can't take baths anymore. Hasn't been able to since he was ten years old and his foster father held his head underwater- extensively- every time he got tired of listening to Barry talk about something.

Not being able to take a bath is not actually as big of an inconvenience as one might think, though. Barry's never liked to do things slowly, even before his accident, and the superspeed just made things worse.

Where was he? Right. Baths. Baths take too long and are boring. Showers are much quicker and let him get back to doing whatever thing is preoccupying his mind at the moment.

A thump on the glass surrounding him brings his mind back to the present. It's probably worrying that he didn't register drifting off into semi-consciousness, but Barry doesn't really have the energy to care at this point.

Still, another thump, this one louder and more annoying, prods him into opening his eyes. He slowly, so, so slowly peels them open, peering through crystal clear water at the man on the other side.

Barry's not sure who it is, honestly. Some low-level villain with super strength that he thought he could handle alone.

Apparently not.

The guy had a partner, a woman that had come out nowhere and frozen his feet to the ground and then swung a block of ice bigger than his fist at Barry before he could get loose.

The next thing he knew, he was here. Chained to the bottom of a tank filled with water with a mask strapped to his face that was connected to the bottom of the tank and that was giving him enough oxygen to stay conscious and alert.

Well, the alert part might've been more successful if he didn't currently have a concussion the size of New Jersey throbbing at the base of his skull. At least his cowl had stayed on through the whole experience, even if he'd rather have it off right now.

Barry realizes that the man's stopped hitting the glass. Instead, he's staring at Barry in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable. Like Barry's a science experiment that the man can't wait to dissect.

Which, for the record? Not something Barry's ever been or wanted to be. Somehow, 'lab rat' didn't come up on career choice day.

Apparently fed up with Barry's inattentiveness- _get in line, buddy, you've got a lot of angry foster families ahead of you_ \- the man hits the glass again, harder than he has before. The sound reverberates through Barry's head, and he tries to shake it to relieve the ringing in his ears.

The way his head moves so slowly only serves to remind him of the fact that he's trapped under water. Great.

Still, he forces his mind away from his situation and looks up at the man, who's grinning in the same way that all supervillains seem to grin.

(Seriously, do they take a class, or- no. Focus, Barry. Focus.)

Sound suddenly comes pouring out of tiny black boxes fixed to the top corners of the tank. Barry curls in on himself as much as he can at the onslaught of noise, so loud that he can barely focus on the words. "Welcome back, Flash. I'm so happy that you've decided to join us. Before you try anything, remember that the cuffs you're in neutralize your powers."

Barry shrugs. He'd say something snarky back, but. Well. Circumstances aren't the most accommodating towards that at the moment. The man continues, oblivious to his prisoner's thoughts. "I want you to know that you're going to drown, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Barry's heart is thundering in his ears now, and he only catches a bit of what the man says next. Something about an example. His captor reaches towards a switch and flicks it, and suddenly the mask starts to pull away from Barry and towards the bottom of the tank.

It vanishes, and so does Barry's calm. He thrashes, desperately holding his breath, giving every bit of power he has towards breaking free. The only thing that stops him from trying to use his speed is the knowledge that if he does, he'll electrocute the water and then he'll be dead anyway.

He can't breathe. He can't breathe and he can't move and he  _can't get free he has to get free can't breathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathe_ -

The man is still talking, the loud sounds coming from the speakers adding to Barry's terror, and suddenly, he's not in a tank, not a superhero, just a little boy that can't breathe because the man he thought would be his new family got tired of listening to him ramble on.

He sobs, inhaling water. He just wants his dad back.

Water's rushing out of the tank, and Barry sinks to his knees, limp. He gags, trying to cough water out and take in air at the same time. Someone's thumping his back, trying to get him to cough up the water he inhaled, and he  _can't get away_ -

Barry finally stops coughing, throat scraped painfully raw, and he takes in a ragged gasp of air. The hand is still touching him, large and coarse, and he twists away, a low noise coming from the back of his throat that he doesn't want to identify as a whimper, but really, there's no other word for it. The hand hesitates, then draws back.

Barry tries to remember how to breathe.

It takes him- he doesn't know. He doesn't know how long it is until he can finally breathe in a way that bears any semblance to normal, how long it is until he looks up and sees a large man crouching a few feet away from him, hands up and expression careful. "Barry," the man says, "Do you remember me? Do you know who I am?"

Barry thinks- he tries to think past the pounding in his head, past the trembling in his hands- Barry thinks he might. The man seems familiar. He closes his eyes, blinking them open again just as fast. "Arthur?"

The man- Arthur, Aquaman- nods. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me. I'm going to get you out of those chains, okay?"

Barry nods. He can't wait to get out of here. At least, that's what he thinks until Arthur stands and starts to walk towards him, and then all he can think is  _tall big strong_ -

He doesn't realize that he's starting to hyperventilate again until Arthur calls his name again. "Barry. Barry, look at me. I'm staying over here, okay?"

Barry looks up. Arthur's telling the truth. The older man's sunk into a crouch again, hands back up, and he's still a few feet away from his younger teammate. Barry watches as Arthur takes an exaggerated breath, then another, and another. Almost without thinking, he syncs his own breathing to that of Arthur's. It takes a moment, but he can breathe again.

He realizes that he can't see either of his captors and wonders detachedly what happened to them. He can't quite bring himself to care at the moment.

Arthur gives him another moment to collect himself, then starts to speak again. "I'm going to come closer, okay? But not until you say so. And if you tell me to stop, I'll stop. Does that sound okay?"

Barry hesitates, but he nods. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he even has a choice.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Arthur inches forward, still in a crouch, still with his hands raised. Barry watches as the man gets ever closer. When the trembling in his hands becomes too much to ignore, he chokes out, "Stop. Please- stop."

Wonder of wonders, Arthur stops immediately. He doesn't reprimand Barry for being weak. He speaks quietly, a drastic change from the screeching of the speakers. "Okay, Barry. I stopped. I'm just staying here. I'm not going to come closer until you're okay with it."

Barry watches in disbelief as Arthur does exactly what he says. He doesn't move any closer. He doesn't press Barry to hurry up.

Barry closes his eyes again, but still can't keep them closed for long. It takes him a few long moments, but eventually, he says, "Okay. You can come closer."

Arthur nods. He starts moving again. This time he's within arm's reach of Barry when he reaches for the younger man and then all Barry can see is his hands, moving fast and he pulls against the chains because he needs to  _get away_ -

Barry looks up to see Arthur just out of arm's reach, talking softly, speaking calming phrases. As soon as Arthur realizes that he's listening, he says, "I need to get close to you to get the chains off, okay?"

His voice is patient, and Barry doesn't know how to feel about that, but he nods.

Arthur moves closer, and Barry tenses instinctively, hunching his shoulders and trying to ignore the shaking in his hands as Arthur's hands, large and warm and calloused- but gentle, ever so gentle- close around his wrists and simply tear the cuffs off. Barry jerks away from him at the display of strength, scrambling backwards and towards the exit, but he's stopped by the cuffs around his ankles.

He watches, hardly able to think, as Arthur gives the ankle cuffs the same treatment. Then Barry moves backwards until his back hits the wall, and he stares at Arthur, who's still in the exact same spot, who's sitting cross-legged and leaning back on his hands.

It's about the most unthreatening position he can be in, and it helps Barry breathe. He rips the cowl off his face and feels instant relief at having the waterlogged clothing off of his face.

Arthur doesn't say anything for a long while, and Barry calms his heart rate. They sit there like that for a long time, and finally, Barry looks up and says, "Thanks."

Arthur nods, expression kind. "Of course. I was in the neighborhood. Are you alright?"

Barry recognizes the way the man holds himself, the way he shifts uncomfortably. He gets this way whenever he's out of the water for too long, and Barry knows the man's been away from the ocean for a few days now. He nods, pastes on a grin. "Yeah, of course."

Arthur still hesitates, and Barry saves him from having to make the decision himself. He stands, pulls the cowlback on, and says, "Well, uh, thanks again."

With that, he's out the door and into the darkness of the falling night.

He sleeps at the Manor that night, hoping that Bruce won't know, but needing somewhere he knows he'll be absolutely safe. He crashes on one of the many couches in one of the many living rooms and picks, by complete chance, the one that the entrance to the Batcave is in. He's fast asleep when Bruce stumbles over him on his way to get ready for the night.

Bruce watches the younger man for a moment, thinking about the call he received from Arthur earlier. He pulls a blanket over the younger man and tells Alfred to tell him if anything happens while he's on patrol. Alfred nods knowingly, muttering something about young men and their ability to sleep anywhere.

The next morning, Barry is still there, and Alfred invites him to breakfast with Bruce. Barry accepts, and no one comments on the way he sits with his back to the wall with a clear path to all the exits.

He mumbles an apology for staying at the Manor without an invitation, and Alfred looks very indignant and informs him that he's always welcome there and that "It's nice to have someone around that actually listens for once."

Bruce looks very, very exasperated, and Barry smiles down at his eggs.


	2. Diana - Guns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are posted on the same day since they are shorter than the others. Make sure you read them both!

Barry's with Diana- they've just taken down a gang of men that thought they had a better chance shooting at the two heroes than running- when he sees it. It seems innocent- as innocent as a weapon used mainly for destruction can be- but he can't quite bring himself to touch it.

Diana comes to talk to him, apparently finished with giving the policemen a report on the amount and location of drugs in the warehouse they're standing in, and finds him staring at it.

She leans down and picks it up, turning it over and over in her hands. Barry speaks before she does, unable to stop himself. "Careful."

Diana glances over at him, surprised. He stares at the gun in her hands as he talks. "Sorry. Just. Careful. Those things are dangerous."

Diana speaks then, quiet and steady. "Have you ever shot-"

Barry cuts her off. "No. That type of gun is the same type that-" He stops. Starts again. "I don't have a good history with guns."

Diana nods. He doesn't question how she seems to know what he's talking about. He knows Bruce has files on them all back at the Cave, and there's no question in his mind that his mother's death is in his file. There's a beat of silence, and then Diana speaks again. "Did you know that before I went outside of Themyscira, I had never seen a gun before?"

Barry shakes his head as his teammate continues. "I saw them for the first time when Germans stumbled upon my island. They killed some of my sisters. That was the same day I first met Steve."

Beside her, Barry stills. Diana rarely talks about her dead boyfriend, and whenever she does, she is very, very serious about something. "I was horrified by them, and I thought they were only used by monsters. I worked with Steve, though, and he showed me that they are only a tool, like my sword. How they are used depends on the one who wields them."

Barry looks up at Diana, sees the sad expression on her face, and feels as though he's intruding on something private. "I do not blame you for not liking them, my friend. Just remember that not all who use them are evil."

Barry nods, unable to find the words to speak, unsure of what's even appropriate to say after that. He watches as Diana hands the gun to a nearby police officer, and then walks into the bright sunlight outside. Nearby, a police officer mutters, "I don't know if I've ever seen anyone cooler than her."

Privately, Barry agrees.


	3. Victor - Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the previous have both been posted at the same time since they are shorter than the other chapters. Make sure you read them both!

Barry and Victor are fighting a particularly pesky supervillain together when Barry messes up. He gets a little too cocky, too into trading quips with his friend, and he trips, winding up right in front of the villain, who promptly shoots him.

It's only a graze, and it honestly doesn't even hurt that much- super healing is an amazing benefit to being struck by lightning- but Victor lets out a roar of rage and slams the guy they're fighting up against a pile of crates, mechanical limbs whirring and morphing into something suspiciously deadly looking that comes to rest just under the man's neck.

Barry scrambles forward, zipping to his friend faster than the blink of an eye. He looks Victor in the eye- and immediately fights the urge to run, because the older man has murder in his eyes.

Barry hears a whimper from the man behind him, and, somehow, he knows what he needs to do. Calmly, quietly, he starts to talk. "Hey. Cyborg. Look at me."

Slowly, ever so slowly, his friend obeys. The blade stays at the man's neck, though, and Barry prays that the man has enough sense not to talk. "That's it. I'm not even hurt, see?" He offers his arm for inspection. Sure enough, the only sign of what happened is a tear in the sleeve and a bit of dried blood on Barry's skin. "It's fine."

Apparently this is the wrong thing to say, because Victor's grip on the man tightens, and the man looks like he's about to pass out from terror. Victor growls, "You getting hurt is not okay."

Barry nods. "Okay. Okay. Me getting hurt was bad. But now I'm fine. Nothing's going to happen." Victor doesn't look like he's about to put the guy down anytime soon, so Barry keeps talking. "It's not worth it, okay? You know killing this guy isn't going to make anything better. And look at him. He's not worth it."

Slowly, Victor's grip starts to loosen. "There we go. That's it. Just put him down. C'mon man, you don't want to deal with B's disappointment stare, do you?"

That last bit gets Victor to crack a tiny smile, and Barry mentally cheers, especially as Victor lowers the blade from guy's throat.

Unfortunately, this guy is apparently an idiot, as he takes the opportunity to lunge for Barry, who thinks,  _Really? After all this, you're going to go for me?_  and knocks him out with a single punch in less time than it takes for Victor to start to react at all.

They both stare at the man that's lying limp on the ground, then look at each other. Barry shrugs. "I guess we should call the police?"

After a moment of hesitation, Victor nods, and they leave the man lying on the ground with his hands tied behind him and a note to the police. They head back to the Cave, and Victor insists on a full medical scan for Barry, who looks at him and asks, "Can't you do that anyway, with all your fancy gear?"

Victor's already-dark skin flushes deeper, and Barry tries not to grin. Alfred conducts the scan, and Bruce watches. As soon as Alfred tells Barry he's clear, he tackles Victor, and any conversation Bruce attempts to have with them is ignored as their friendly insults quickly devolve into a wrestling match on the sparring mats.

Alfred and Bruce watch for a moment, sharing smiles at the young laughter that hasn't been heard in the cave for a long time.


	4. Clark - Bugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place immediately after the movie. probably one of my more-liked chapters for this tbh
> 
> edit 1/12/17: fixed a sentence that felt awkward

Barry tries not to stare at the man next to him- because, hey, it's  _Superman-_ but he also tries not to flinch away from the guy every time Superman ("Call me Clark") makes a sudden move- or, really, any move that Barry's not expecting.

This is his chance in the big leagues! With heroes that people will be talking about for years! He can't mess this up just because of childhood trauma and the fact that the guy basically beat him into the ground last time he saw him!

Barry winces away from the last thought, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand- killing one of the last few nightmare bug-things that hadn't been sucked into the weird portal with Steppenwolf. There's not many of them, and they're all scattered around the same factory where they fought Steppenwolf. They had split up, and Victor, Diana, and Bruce had gone to search the east wing of the facility.

The only problem with this plan, which Barry hadn't been able to discreetly point out to Bruce since one of Superman's powers was super-hearing, was that this left Barry to go with Superman, who he's pretty sure hates Barry.

But who knows? Maybe that’s just his instinct- born of many, many childhood experiences- talking. Maybe Superman wouldn't blame him for at least part of the destruction to his memorial statue.

Yeah. And maybe a large cheese pizza will fall from the sky right about... now.

When no cheese pizza appears and Clark calls him over, Barry resigns himself to his fate and walks over to the older man. "Yeah?"

Superman gives him a  _look_ , and Barry freezes for a fraction of a second, because maybe saying "Yeah," to the super-powerful, super-respected alien is a breach of etiquette.

If it is, though, it must be one that's small enough to overlook because Superman doesn't comment, instead nodding to the dark hallways in front of them. "You ready?"

Barry nods, shifting into a running stance. Then he takes off.

The speed is almost enough to take his mind off of his predicament. He loves the way the speed feels- the way everything calms, the way he can see anything coming at him from miles away. He glances over, and almost immediately trips when he sees Superman keeping speed with him.

He almost forgot how unnerving that was.

He rolls with his momentum, and somehow ends up crashing into a tiny closet. The door slams shut behind him, and then a nightmarishly yellow glow lights up the tiny space.

Barry screams as the nightmare bug lunges for him, a combination of surprise and memories that are a bit to close to this situation, and he desperately tries to fight the thing off. He's vibrating fast with terror, faster than he's ever gone before, and his hand slips through the bug's chest. It goes limp, suddenly, and he jerks backwards as a disgusting green goo that lightly stings splatters onto him.

Great. His day keeps getting better and better.

The closet door is wrenched open, and Barry's out of the closet in- well, a flash. He doesn't get farther than few steps outside the door, though, before he rams into what feels like a brick well and ends up on his back. He's left staring up at Superman, who's staring down at him with a bemused expression. "You okay?"

Barry somehow manages to push down his embarrassment enough to say, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm pretty sure this bug blood is going to be a pain to get out of my suit, though."

Clark grins as he reaches down to help Barry up, opening his mouth to say something, but as soon as his hand gets in the vicinity of Barry's head, the younger man flinches away.

Barry wants to sink through the floor as Superman hesitates, brow furrowed. He thought he was over this. He should've been over this. Quickly, he scrambles to his feet. "Sorry," he mumbles, "Just- you know. After you get locked in a shed with a bunch of bugs as a kid it kind of stays with you after the fourth or fifth time, haha."

Barry wants to curse his runaway mouth as he processes what he's just said. No, scratch that. He just wants to die. He can see Superman putting together what he just said, getting ready to say something, and he blurts out, "Can we just finish this?"

And he  _hates_  the way his voice comes out, small and weak and  _childish_ , but Clark doesn't say a word. Instead, he nods and turns away, walking at a normal speed. Barry takes the hint and follows.

As they walk, systematically going through every hallway and room for any sign of the creatures, Clark begins to talk, voice deceptively casual. The way he keeps flicking his eyes over to Barry gives him away, though. "You know, when I was a kid, I used to be terrified of spiders. Didn't really have a reason, just thought it was creepy that they had so many legs. I still don't like them, actually."

Clark stops, and, reluctantly, Barry faces him. He realizes, in that moment, just how much taller than him Superman is. Barry doubts that the older man means to loom as much as he does, but it's still happening, and he has to fight not to take a step away from him.

Clark takes a minute to clear his throat, but when he speaks it's with a quiet intensity that makes Barry remember just why the man in front of him is regarded as a leader the world over. "I don't know why you have a problem with bugs, Barry, or even if that's actually what it is. But it's not anything to be ashamed of, especially when it's the result of something that wasn't your fault."

Barry doesn't know what to say. He knows what Clark's saying is true, but it's hard, sometimes, to believe. It helps, though, to have someone else say it every once in a while. He settles for giving an awkward nod and hoping his gratitude shows on his face. It must, because Clark grins at him before taking off at superspeed again.

Barry smiles to himself. Maybe he can get used to this team thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i’m posting this at 4:50 am bc my alarm for work went off and i didn’t have work so i started reading fanfic even though i should go to bed lol and then i was like eh i’m up i can post this now


	5. Bruce - Obnoxiously Tall People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me lol
> 
> also i am tired
> 
> also this is the chapter that the warning at the beginning of the story applies to most

It's raining, and Barry is cursing himself for falling in a lake. He's got a cold that'll be gone in a day or so, but still. He's got a cold, he is cold, and his roof is leaking. After Bruce had found out that he was living in the abandoned building, the older man had insisted that Barry move his base of operations to the Batcave, reasoning that it'd be a safer place for his expensive equipment than someplace a determined teenager could break into.

Barry wisely agreed and did not bring up that that was, essentially what he was, had done, and was still doing.

However, he's still living in the warehouse, determined not to infringe on Bruce's kindness more than is absolutely necessary. In his experience, people get tired of him faster the more they see of him, and he was already working with Bruce more often than not and eating from his pantry after missions. There has to be a limit to what the guy will put up with.

So. Here Barry is, sick and miserable and hungry. He's stretched his paycheck as much as possible, but there's barely enough money for him to make it to the end of the month eating one full meal- a full meal for him, at least- a day. He can make it four more days, has before, but it certainly isn't helping him feel any better tonight.

Barry sighs, slumped in his favorite chair, huddled into his old plaid hoodie. After a moment, he zips to the old mason jar where he keeps his emergency cash and stares into it. There's a few lonely bills sitting at the bottom, and he debates using one of them to buy some cold medicine. Even though medicine normally doesn't work too well on him due to his metabolism, maybe it'll have some effect on the cold since his metabolism is suffering because of lack of food.

After ten minutes of sniffling and debating the pros and cons of buying the medicine, he gives in. He's outside the door of the nearest twenty-four-hour pharmacy in a second, and he tries to push away his uncertainty before entering. He ducks inside, feeling the welcome heat of a place that actually has a heater, and shaking the water from his hair.

The store clerk, a middle-aged woman, looks up from her novel, gives him a bored glance, then goes back to reading. Barry waves awkwardly, then heads to the medicine aisle. He finds what he needs quickly- the off-brand, cheap pack of cold medicine- and heads back to the counter. He tosses the box on the counter, and the clerk glances at it, up at him, and back down again. Barry fidgets. "Is there a problem?"

The clerk nods. "Can I see your ID?"

Barry frowns. "Why?"

"You're not allowed to buy cold medicine if you're under eighteen."

Barry stares at her. "You're kidding."

"Sorry, kid. ID or no meds."

Barry braces his hands on the counter. He had never bothered to get an ID. None of his foster families around age sixteen had ever seemed as if they'd even consider the possibility, and it's not like he could afford a car after he ran away. There was no point. "Would you take my word for it?"

The clerk shakes her head. "Sorry, I can't. I could lose my job."

Barry nods. He doesn't blame her. The clerk hesitates, and Barry's eyes flick up to her. "You could call a parent?"

Barry stares at her. The only person that springs to mind is Bruce. Clark is definitely not an option- somehow, he doesn't think that the reporter- however mild-mannered he may be- would appreciate a call at this time of night, Diana wouldn't want to be woken up in the middle of the night either, Arthur is- who knows where Arthur is, honestly, and Victor would in no way agree to come out, get stared at by a store clerk and anyone else who saw him just to help Barry buy cold medicine.

The clerk nudges the box towards him. "Look, kid, either put this back or call a parent or someone."

Barry looks at the medicine. Is he really this desperate? Then he thinks about going back to the warehouse to be cold and sick for who knows how long, and decides that yes, he really is this desperate.

Barry takes a deep breath. "I'll be right back."

Another customer walks in, and Barry takes the opportunity to head to the back of the store, where he won't be overheard. He dials the number he was given with strict instructions of, " _Only_  in emergencies," and waits.

The phone is picked up on the second ring, and Barry breathes a sigh of relief as a familiar British voice comes over the line. "Mr. Allen? Is everything alright?"

Barry rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Alfred, great, just who I wanted to talk to. Are you doing anything right now?"

"Nothing that can't be left for a few minutes, should the need arise. Do you need something?"

"I need you to help me buy cold medicine."

There was a beat of silence, and then, "I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. Could you repeat that?"

Barry winces. "I need you to help me buy cold medicine. I got carded, but I don't have an ID." He sighs, then adds, "I really need this."

Alfred's voice floats through the line, perfectly neutral. "I completely understand. Help will be along shortly, Mr. Allen."

Barry grins. "Thanks, Alfred. You're the best."

He hangs up and settles down to wait, determined to think of something other than the fact that his stomach feels like it's turning itself inside out. Fortunately, another convenient thing to think of is the way the store is very, very warm. _Perks of having an actual heater and not just trying to make do with multiple blankets_ , he thinks. He manages to stay somewhat comfortable by distracting himself by reading the ingredient lists of the medicines surrounding him until a familiar-looking car pulls into the parking lot.

Barry spares a moment to remember that he didn't actually tell Alfred where he was, move on to being slightly creeped out by the fact that he didn't need to, and decide that, in the long run, it doesn't actually matter that much.

He's moving towards the door, ready to thank Alfred, except it's not Alfred that enters the store.

It's Bruce. Barry's steps stutter to a stop, and he stares at the older man. Bruce's face is hidden behind a cheap pair of sunglasses- probably so that he doesn't have to deal with a starstruck clerk- but it's definitely him. Barry meets him halfway, already fumbling his way through an apology, when Bruce grabs his shoulder. "Barry. Calm down. I was in the neighborhood."

Barry can't help but remember a few weeks earlier, when Arthur had said those very same words to him. Still, he stops, takes a breath, then says, "I can pay for it, they just won't let me buy it. Which, you know, understandable, but still. So, um, I think you're going to have to buy it?" The last bit comes out tentatively, because Barry's already pretty sure that after tonight, Bruce won't speak to him for a week. He hastens to add, "I can pay you back, though-"

Bruce cuts him off. "It's okay, Barry. I think I can handle buying some cold medicine. It won't break the bank."

Barry winces at that, but follows Bruce up to the register. They buy the cold medicine without further incident- or at least, Bruce buys it- and then they head out towards the car. The rain's gotten heavier, if that's even possible, and Barry doesn't look forward to running home through it, even if it'll just take a second.

He turns to Bruce, hand outstretched to take the bag, a thank you on the tip of his tongue, but Bruce moves the bag out of reach before Barry can grab it. Barry's heart sinks as he wonders what Bruce wants for it- solo missions for a week? A month? For Barry to clean the cave?

His mind jumps to other possibilities, and he hopes that Bruce will let him just give the older man the amount owed and leave it at that. Bruce is speaking, though, and Barry pulls his mind back into the present. "-Okay?"

Barry shuffles his feet, sheepish. "Sorry, what?"

Bruce sighs, but it doesn't seem entirely exasperated. "I asked if you were okay with just coming back to the Manor tonight. There's a couple things I want to go over with you."

Barry nods, still wary. "Okay."

Bruce smiles then, small, as all his smiles are, but it doesn't look like the ones he gives criminals, which, Barry decides, is a good thing.

The drive to the Manor is quiet and passes too quickly for Barry's liking. He knows how to react to things in the car, knows the rules. He's never actually been invited into the Manor like this, and the rules are different. He doesn't even know if it's the same game.

He forces himself to follow Bruce into the kitchen.

Alfred's there waiting for them, holding a change of clothes that look warm and dry and instantly remind Barry that his own clothes are currently very, very damp. Bruce motions to the clothes, then points down the hall. "There's a bathroom third door on the right. Go take a shower and get changed."

Barry hesitates, but Alfred tacks on, "You don't need to sit in wet, cold clothes if you're sick, Mr. Allen," and that's all it takes to convince him.

He takes the shortest shower possible and dresses in the clothes, which fit him well, albeit a little big. They're soft and worn, but can't be more than a few years old, and Barry wonders why Bruce has clothes like these when they obviously haven't fit him in decades.

He braces himself for whatever will come next and heads to the kitchen.

Bruce and Alfred are talking quietly, but they both stop as soon as Barry enters the kitchen, and he can't help but feel incredibly awkward. He starts to wave, but immediately regrets it, and instead brings his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "Uh, sorry, am I interrupting you? I can go wait somewhere, or..."

He lets the words trail away as Bruce shakes his head. "No, come sit down. Alfred was just finishing up dinner."

Barry glances at the clock. It's currently 9:43 pm, and he has a hard time believing that Bruce hasn't already eaten, but he's not going to turn down free food. Besides, who is he to know or judge Bruce's eating habits? Eccentric billionaires and all that.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table- which is much smaller than movies and television have led him to believe a wealthy person's table would be, he's been lied to- and watches as Alfred sets a plate in front of both him and Bruce, who has taken a seat directly across from Barry.

Barry hesitates, but Alfred says, "It's kosher, Mr. Allen," and after that, Barry doesn't hesitate to dig in. It's chicken parmesan, and it's the best chicken parmesan that Barry's ever had. This may be a result of the fact that an hour ago he was sitting in an abandoned warehouse freezing his butt off, but. Barry's not really going to question it.

He finishes his plate quickly- contrary to what some may believe, he does have some manners, and eats at the same speed as everyone else if he's not eating alone- and watches as Bruce slowly takes his fourth bite of the meal. Barry can feel his impatience start to grow, as it always does when he's waiting for someone or something. As he tries not to stare at Bruce but also not  _not_  look at Bruce, Alfred sets his plate back down in front of him, this time filled with more food than his first serving.

Barry hesitates, because he's pretty sure a single meal like this at a restaurant would run him more than he could afford in a week, and he's still not sure if Bruce is going to expect him to pay the older man back for the amount of food he's consuming. After all, this isn't the aftermath of a mission.

Bruce glances at him and raises an eyebrow. "Something the matter?"

Barry stares down at the table as he forces his next words out. He's not embarrassed that he's working this job, that he has to save money, but it's difficult to talk to a billionaire about it. "Um, I don't get paid until next week. I can't pay you for this."

Bruce is silent for a moment, and Barry braces himself for the food to be taken away, to be told to leave. When Bruce speaks, he can't bring himself to meet the older man's eyes. "Barry, I don't know what I did to give you the impression that you owe me something, but I'm sorry. I thought you understood that we were friends, but I probably didn't make it clear enough." There's a small pause, and then Bruce continues. "This is what friends do. You don't owe me anything. Just- eat as much as you want."

At some point during the conversation, Barry has lifted his head to meet Bruce's gaze, and he stares at the older man with an expression that Bruce will think about later that night, that will drive home to the man that his friend is young, painfully so, younger than Dick and just barely older than Jason was when-

But now, here in the present, Barry's left blindsided by the fact that he doesn't owe Bruce anything for this. For anything the man's done for him.

It's a novel experience.

Barry must be staring for too long, because Bruce motions to his plate and says, "Eat, Barry. We have plenty."

And he does. Ten minutes later, he feels fuller than he has in a long time that wasn't after a mission. It's great. He loves it. He loves food.

He realizes that he's spaced out again again when Bruce nudges his shoulder and Barry looks up at the older man to see that the table has been cleared and Alfred is nowhere to be seen. "Sorry, what?"

Bruce just says- or repeats, most likely- with infinite patience, "Are you ready to go down to the cave?"

Barry nods, hopping to his feet. He's eager to see Bruce's enormous headquarters again, and now that he's not starving he'll appreciate it even more.

He follows Bruce without hesitation, and amuses himself for a few minutes by examining everything in sight. Bruces watches him- or, rather, the lighting he leaves in his wake- and waits for Barry to settle down before he asks, "Ready to get to work?"

Barry nods, dropping into a convenient (and very plush) chair. Bruce starts to talk about a recent mission, feeling the need, for some reason, to list every single detail, from the weather to the soil composition.

Barry fights, he really does, but he's full and warm and feels considerably less sick than he had two hours ago. Before he knows it, he's asleep.

When Barry wakes, he's lying in an extremely soft bed that is most definitely  _not_  in the cave, and he doesn't really want to think about how he got there, because that would mean that Bruce probably  _carried_  him, which would be extremely embarrassing. In the spirit of sleep, though, he resolves to worry about it in the morning and rolls back over to go to sleep.

However, all good things must come to an end, and this has always proved to be doubly true for Barry.

He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it's a nightmare, but right now he's only focused on  _getting away_  from the man towering over him. He scrambles backwards, or tries to, but he's caught in something and he can't get  _free_ , and he can feel a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, trying to hurt him, and he  _can't get away can't get free_ -

Barry crashes back into wakefulness to find himself being shaken awake by a concerned-looking Bruce Wayne, but his brain is still on overdrive, and he yelps and tries to scramble back. His feet tangle in the sheets, and he ends up sprawled on the floor looking up- so, so far up- and he tries to move back, but his back hits a wall.

He can't escape, so he does the next best thing: he curls up, arms moving into a defensive position over his head, trying to block the worst of the hits that he knows will come.

Except they don't. The blows don't come, and Barry slowly uncurls, peeking out from behind his arms cautiously. Bruce is sitting with his back against the edge of the bed, legs crossed, hands on his knees where Barry can see them. There's a clear path from Barry to the door of the room.

Barry stiffens as everything comes flooding back to him, and he remembers where he is. He has to focus on breathing, then, trying to ward off the panic attack that comes after nightmares like this.

Bruce waits, patient, as Barry collects himself. The time stretches out, long and slow, but for once, Barry welcomes the monotony, the break from a frantic circle of thoughts. Eventually, though, he knows he has to say something.

He stares at the ground as he starts to talk. "After my dad was arrested, I got put in the system." He hesitates for a moment, then continues. "There were some great homes, there really were, and there's a couple people I've stayed in touch over the years. I just- there were some bad ones too.

"And they only ever hit me around a few times, or locked me in a closet or something when I got too annoying, but there was this one guy- he was, like, seven feet tall- and he was- he was the first bad home I was in. And, I just, I don't know."

Bruce is quiet, then opens his mouth to speak, but Barry pushes forward, desperate to get the words out now. "And, like, I know what they did isn't okay, wasn't okay then, but, you know, it's- it's hard, sometimes."

He falls silent after that, picking at the knee of the sweatpants for a moment before hugging his arms to himself.

Bruce starts talking. His voice is low, comforting. "There was a boy, a few years back, that I took in. He would've been your age now. He grew up on the streets with a deadbeat mom that brought some less than satisfactory men back, from what I understand."

Barry doesn't understand how this relates to him, but he keeps quiet. Bruce keeps talking. "He had- there were nights like this with him, sometimes. He hated to admit it, but it took him a while to get used to living somewhere with enough food and warmth and- and safety, I suppose."

Barry nods almost without thinking; he's intimately familiar with that feeling. Bruce continues. "His situation was like yours- it was, he'd say, only physical, nothing else." At this, Bruce glances at Barry and the younger man hastens to nod. His situation had never escalated beyond that, and he was thankful for that.

Bruce moves his gaze back to the floor. "He used to play it off like it wasn't a big deal or like it wasn't that bad. And I told him something and I'm going to tell you the same thing: there's no such thing as  _not that bad_. Anything, no matter how small, is too much. You didn't do anything to deserve it, Barry. You didn't do anything wrong."

And maybe it's the fact that someone actually said it other than himself, maybe it's the fact that Bruce cares enough to let him stay in his house- the first time someone's cared enough to do that in a long time, but a huge weight lifts from Barry's chest.

He takes a moment, breathes in-out-in, before he can speak again. "Thanks. For, um, for. You know." Somehow, he knows Bruce will understand everything that's left unsaid. He hesitates, then stands, shuffling over to where Bruce is sitting. Without saying a word, he drops down to sit by the older man. They sit together, shoulders brushing, for a long few minutes before Barry breaks the silence. "What was his name?"

Bruce smiles. It's small, weathered and torn and filled with something bittersweet, and says, "Jason. His name was Jason."

Bruce slowly places an arm around Barry's shoulders, and the younger man relaxes into the warmth.

They stay like that, and for the first time in a long, long time, Barry feels safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl i am super exhausted from a long weekend at a sporting event but the good news is i did great so i decided to celebrate by putting this up also this is probably my favorite chapter of it all 
> 
> also thank you all so much for the comments and kudos and especially the comments bc they keep me motivated and help me write more so anyways thank you all so much when you comment i love you forever xoxo


	6. + One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is it. i just want to say a big thank you to everyone who’s read and especially reviewed. honestly, this was the most fun i’ve had writing a fic in a long time, and i’m thrilled people liked it so much. keep an eye out for more justice league fics coming out soon, hopefully over the holidays.

Bruce stares through the glass at the man sitting on the other side, a mirror image of what his son will look like in thirty years.

The other man speaks first. "Bruce Wayne. My son's told me a lot about you."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Barry's told me quite a bit about you as well, Mr. Allen."

Henry Allen grins. "He's quite the talker, isn't he." It's not a question, and Bruce allows himself an answering smile. "That he is."

Henry's face grows solemn. "Since you must've had to go to some trouble to arrange a face-to-face meeting with me outside of normal visiting hours, I imagine it's not just for us to make small talk?"

Bruce takes a moment before replying, gathering his thoughts. "I wanted to tell you that your son is okay."

Henry half-rises, alarm written in the way his eyes widen and his grip tightens on the phone, and Bruce curses himself for not phrasing his sentence more clearly. "I mean with his job. His new coworkers. He's doing fine."

Bruce sees the way Henry's mind processes the phrase, sees the exact moment that the significance clicks into place. He knows that Barry's father knows about Barry's abilities, and the news had covered their team-up for weeks, along with the devastation that had made it necessary. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put everything together.

Henry sinks back down into his seat. "Good. That's good."

Bruce begins to stand to leave. He came here for one purpose, and that has been fulfilled. Barry had asked him to reassure his father that everything was fine, but Bruce hadn't wanted to take one of his visiting days, so he had arranged this. A bit over the top for a five-minute conversation, perhaps, but Bruce is of the opinion that if one has money, then one might as well use it.

Before he can fully rise, though, Henry speaks again, a quiet desperation tinging his voice. "Wait, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce sits back down, and Henry continues. "I don't know how you know my boy, but I need to ask you a favor. Twice a month, every month, Barry has come here to talk to me. I've watched him come to this same prison for nine years, and more times than not he's been covered in bruises or looks like he hasn't eaten in a month, and I haven't been able to do a thing about it.

"I've seen him come and go through the years, and he's changed. He's not the kid he was once. He's resilient, that's for sure, but he's seen things, experienced things no one should have to. And he hasn't had anyone to look out for him in a long time."

Henry stops for a moment, collecting himself, emotion dripping from his voice. "Look out for my son, Mr. Wayne. I can't, so I need you to."

Bruce replies without hesitation, "I will."

There's a lot left unsaid behind those two words, but he knows Henry hears it. They take their leave of each other without another word, and Bruce leaves the prison thinking about two other boys that he had taken in and cared for, and he thinks that it wouldn't be a burden to do so for another.

That night, he claps Barry on the shoulder and tells him he's done well when the kid talks about the latest criminal he's stopped, and he smiles to himself at Barry's blinding grin at the praise.

 _Yes_ , he thinks,  _I could get used to this again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i completely forgot i hadn’t posted this and panicked sorry guys


End file.
